


No-Face In The Commonwealth

by SmallBabyWerewolf



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: I'm tired
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2020-02-29 16:47:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18782209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmallBabyWerewolf/pseuds/SmallBabyWerewolf
Summary: No-Face finds herself in a changed world full of irradiated monsters, new friends, and new enemies.





	1. Vault

**Author's Note:**

> here's more terrible writing

   It felt like mere minutes had passed since they’d fled into the Vault on the hill.

   Her sister, screaming for her husband to grab their son. Her, grabbing the alice pack her father had given her. Codsworth bidding them sad farewell, she was the last to speak to the poor robot as she’d called _Take care of yourself, Cods!_ Her sister had grabbed her wrist and harshly yanked her out the door as she waved goodbye to him.

   Her sister’s husband, Nate, had their baby tightly bundled in his arms, leading them through the stock-still throngs of terrified neighbors. There were plenty of other neighbors and complete strangers trying to crowd the path to the hill.

   She didn’t particularly watch what was happening because all she could think of was their _dad_.at home so far down south and so far away and _not with them_.

   She whimpered as she ran along and terrified tears made their way down her cheeks.

   Nate had gotten them to the guarded gate, pushed past the sales rep her sister had spoken to less than ten minutes before. He fired off the information Vault-Tec had assigned them and they were allowed to pass the hulking masses of armor.

   They barely made underground in time. She and Nate had heard the fighters in the distance, looked at each other and _knew_. They’d formed a huddle, Shaun in the center in Nate’s arms, as the light of a thousand suns burned their exposed skin and the people around them _screamed,_ a chorus absolute terror.

Her sister didn’t stop screaming until she clapped a hand over her mouth and shouted her name.

    _All those people_ she realized as her gut twisted. But before she could dwell on it she was led deeper into the Vault. She barely registered her surroundings as they were escorted by an inappropriately cheerful man in a lab coat. Lots of gray steel, suitcases strewn on the floor as their owners fought to keep them.

   She remembered the backpack very obviously on her back and hoped they wouldn’t take it from her. It had everything of hers that she hadn’t loaded into a storage unit. That was probably all ashes now, anyways.

   She held back more tears as the childish desire of wanting her dad choked her, while the lab coat started instructing them.

   Then she’d looked around and whispered to Nate, because he bothered to listen to her, he liked her more than either of her sisters did. He didn’t think she was stupid like they did. _“He’s lying.”_

   He nodded, glancing around, and they both saw the frost-coated piping leading to the strange pods the lab coat was trying to coax them into.

    _“Cryogenics maybe?”_ He replied in her ear. _“We’ll be fine.”_ He didn’t say anything to her sister.

  He urged her sister, _his wife,_ to the pod the lab coat was motioning towards. She looked away, they were having a moment; her sister was nuzzling her little son. Nate was whispering in her ear.

   _Intruding again as always_ she thought in mild embarrassment.

   The lab coat handed the three of them blue bundles of fabric. They traded Shaun back and forth so they could each change into the form-fitting suits. She faced the strange pod and stuffed her clothes and boots into her already-over-stuffed bag before slipping the Vault’s sturdy-soled leather boots on. Her backpack went back on her back.

   Again, she hoped no one would take her things.

   No one did, no one paid her much attention at all, and they allowed themselves to be closed in the pods.

   Gases hissed and spat as the inside of the pod fogged and the temperature dropped. She tasted the chill, smelled the strange gaseous mixture being pumped in. She quickly began to lose feeling in her limbs. The inside of her chest burned cold. The tears froze painfully to her cheeks.

   She blacked out.

…

   Then the mercenary showed up. A man like _that_ couldn’t be anything else.

   He had some hazmat-encased companions, one that tried wrestling Shaun away from Nate. She banged on the frozen glass with fingers too stiff to make a fist. Her voice wouldn’t work.

   The man interrupted the woman in the suit’s somewhat gentle attempt.

   _AWAY FROM THEM!_

 She heard her sister screaming from the pod next to him. None of the other residents made any noise.

   Nate fought and lost. There wasn’t much he could do against a man with no heart and a hand cannon. She couldn’t vocalize, started to wheeze and choke as the man faced her and called her _the backup._

   He called a command to an unseen companion and the pod started the freeze cycle again.

   She could still hear her sister sobbing through the glass.

...

   And then she woke _again,_ cold and weak, coughing harshly to the point where she struggled for breath. She realized she was on concrete, in a puddle. She was alone and save her breathing, the place was quiet as an empty church.

   She twisted around and saw her open pod. Someone opened it and she fell out. _Who? Why?_

   None of the other pods were open. She struggled to her feet, unsteady, her backpack was still on her. She slung it off carefully. The olive-green fabric was still coated in frost. Her eyes were still blurry and she thought maybe it looked a shade or two _lighter_ since the blast.

   _Jesus fuck._

   She stumbled and smacked into Nate’s pod. She scrubbed off a circle of frost and looked in. He was motionless, she pushed away before she’d fully registered that the right side of his face was all blood.

   _(his face is gone)_

   She made her way to her sister’s pod and fumbled with the controls. The door hissed open, but nothing happened. She was also motionless, her dark-tanned skin badly paled-

   _(she got Daddy’s skin tone and his hair)_

   -and her lips blue. She patted her sister’s cheek to wake her, feeling how _stiff_ her skin was. She was _cold._

_(she’s gone)_

   She slid an eyelid back and realized what had happened.

   The mercenary and his pals had refrozen _her_ using the proper sequence. Everyone else had been left to slowly refreeze, to suffocate.

   _Fuck._

She swept her sister’s long black hair back into place and closed her pod.

   She’d held a hand to her aching head and began to search the Vault.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> she preps to leave the vault but will we ever know how she crammed all that stuff in her pack

   She took stock of what she had. Everything from her pack was organized on the bed in what was marked as the ‘Overseer’s Quarters.’

   She’d found some supplies she could use, though scarce. Those were spread out on a solid desk against the wall that kept distracting her with thoughts of her sisters and their husbands and her dad and all her family and _Shaun_.

   She kept shooing those thoughts away. _Can’t fall apart now._

…

   She’d scoured the massive tomb that the Vault had become, scrounging up sheets and pillows and blankets. She’d found towels in a still-functioning, still-stocked laundry room. She’d dragged all the creature comforts and supplies into the room.

   She raided the employee dorms and found little of real use: clothing that wouldn’t fit her, spare Vault suits, magazines and books that she put aside in the Overseer’s bookcase, _dirty_ magazines and books that she also put aside, knick-knacks, jewelry, and the usual jumble of random personal items and contraband that one would want to keep close and quiet.

   It wasn’t until she was tucking the blanket onto the bed that she realized that she’d wholly claimed the vault and its contents as her own.

   Who was going to tell her otherwise? The skeletons in tattered rags?

...

   There wasn’t much from her own bag that might be useful for survival in a post-nuclear wasteland, aside from a tomahawk-style camp ax her dad had given her when she had left. She attached the leather holster to her right hip on her belt. 

   The camouflage winter coat she’d had since she was sixteen would probably help, but she had no idea _when_ it was. It could’ve been a few years, a few decades, _even longer. What fucking season is it?_

She decided to leave it for later.

She found her small pair of binoculars in their green zipper pouch and set it into the _take_ pile. Another item from her dad.

   Her clothing was all a bust, none of it was truly tough enough, especially not the handful of dresses she’d cherished enough to keep with her while staying in her sister’s house.

   The items in the zippered pillowcase were _definitely_ staying in the bag. She wished she could at least keep the item in the black satin drawstring bag, but it wasn’t _necessary_ for survival.

   Books were staying, glass jars were staying. She started crying again as she uncovered her old sketchbook, many more photos in it than drawings.

   An old candid picture of her dad smoking on a bench outside their cousin’s house during her wedding sat in the first pages, accompanied by pictures of all her pets (including a poorly lit one of the leghorn rooster that roosted in an old finch cage roofed with a poncho that had hated everyone and everything except their pony,) and she spied a rare one of her and both her sisters together before she closed it and stuffed it back in the bag.

   _I can lose it later when I know what the fuck is going on._

   She uncovered an unopened box of microwave popcorn, a package of cream-filled chocolate cupcakes, an aluminum canteen in its cover that she promptly snapped onto the back of her belt.

   Elsewhere in the empty and silent Vault, she’d found a pistol and some ammunition for it, a few things she recognized as stimpacks. Nate had a few stashed in a large first aid kit he’d told her had fallen out the back of one of the base’s incoming trucks. No one had come back for it so he took it. She’d seen them while digging for the right size bandage for her sister’s dog.

   _Funny… he ran off last night._

   But it wasn’t _really_ last night now, was it?

   She shook off the intruding thoughts. If they clouded her while she needed to be prepared, she’d make a stupid mistake. She continued doing what her dad had taught her. _Pack only the necessities. If you can’t carry it, you don’t need it._

Oh, and she discovered this new world, or at least the vault, had _gigantic_ roaches. She had the impulse to pick one up after she’d stomped on them and show it to _someone, anyone_. But there was no one around.

   _(no one ever cared anyway)_

   Her sister would have shrieked and demanded she get rid of it, while Nate playfully wrestled her closer to it. _Hell,_ her oldest sister and _her_ husband would’ve done the same thing.

   She grabbed a snack box and tore open the cardboard and tried not to feel completely alone.

   _(always alone)_

   She ate a cupcake while she loaded another military ruck with her chosen supplies. She’d found it in the locker of the dorm area. She didn’t want to trash her alice. It didn’t feel right.

   She slid the binoculars onto her belt between the canteen and ax. The pistol went loosely in her belt.

   She sadly looked at her bag as she carefully packed it away. Her worldly possessions were, for the most part, useless to her now. Her backpack was still pretty full. She still didn’t know if she should bring her camouflage coat or not. She’d instead put on her old motorcycle shop hoodie. It was fairly thick despite being well-worn.

   She did take _some_ of her toiletries, however: a small bottle of rosewater body wash, unscented hand sanitizer, her toothbrush and toothpaste, her first aid kit that she’d gotten for a trip with friends some years before.

   She decided she was ready.

   On the way to the door, she accidentally kicked a skeleton still wearing most of their lab coat. There was something on their wrist. She picked it up and shook the stubborn radius out of it. It clattered back to rest next to the ulna where it belonged.

_(just bones)_

   It had a red power button, so she pressed it. It powered on, surprising her.

   _“Good job, little buddy,”_ she praised the device as its name flashed on its dirty screen.

   _Pip-Boy._

   _Well_ , she thought, _This is as good as it gets._

   She snapped it closed on her thin arm and saw it had a Geiger counter. _Oh, excellent._

   She filled her canteen from a sink after letting it run, smelling the water and waving her new acquisition over it. It was definitely cleaner than the water of her previous home.

   She checked the shower in the Overseer’s Quarters and found it clean.

   _Oh thank fuck._

   She drank straight from the sink and splashed her face. _You can survive whatever’s out there. Kinda have to if you want to get some justice._

_And find where they took Shaun._

   She dried her face on her sleeve, headed for the elevator and activated the blessedly-simple controls of the massive door.

…

   The sunlight bit at her salt-stung eyes.

   Outside the Vault she found a long-abandoned site, a few yellow supply crates scattered around among the shipping containers. She checked in them and found what may have either been explosives or ammunition. _Maybe for an energy weapon?_

 She didn’t know the difference. _I could at least trade it, I guess._

   A few skeletons were protruding from the dirt, looking like fallen branches until she swept her gaze over them a second time.

_Oh._

   She scrambled her way on top of one of the big containers that surrounded the site. She wondered what happened to the soldiers, the ones in power armor, the _vertibird_ that was flying overhead while they ran.

   _All dead._

   She went to pull her necklace up and instead felt a sharp tearing from her skin.

   “What the _fuck!”_ she shrieked. She unzipped her suit and found a raw patch where her necklace had frozen to her chest. Irritated, she clenched her jaw, wiped the skin off the necklace on her sleeve, and turned her attention back to the medal. _Yet another gift from her dad._

   His mother had given it to him just before his first deployment when he was a teenager. He’d given her the option of his medallion, or his father’s. She’d chosen his without a second thought. 

    _(the old man was a bastard anyways)_

   She flipped it open and read the inscription:

I

AM A

CATHOLIC

CALL A

PRIEST

   She wasn’t Catholic, her mother had all three of them baptized in her and her parent’s church. She wasn’t particularly religious, anyway. But she did feel like a priest was _really_ needed here.

   She kinda felt like she’d died in the Vault, too.

   _(spent so long wishing you were dead and now here you are idiot)_

   Something glinted and caught her eye, jolting her back to the present. She chewed her lip and slid off the container to investigate.

   She drew her ax as she approached, laughable no matter what weapon she chose. She was small and weak.

   There was some kind of lookout post on a hill, in a copse of dry trees clinging to the last of their foliage. There was a few cinder blocks and a board that made a table and a chair with shelf fungus growing on its legs. It was positioned so the Vault was in plain view when seated. Her skin crawled.

   But that wasn’t all, the thing that had caught her attention was… nothing like she’d ever seen.

   It looked to be a dead _android_ , not just a regular robot, wearing odd armor and a helmet. A clunky looking laser pistol was clenched in its skeletal hand. She slid her ax back in its holster.

   She regarded it for a moment before quickly stripping it of its armor and laid it out on a patch of gravel, she tucked the unfamiliar weapon into an open slot on her ruck. Finally, she unclipped the chin strap of the helmet.

   The poor thing’s face was a bit anticlimactic. Its eyes were dark, the irises looked orange in the black surroundings. Its face had all of its skin, she thought it could even be considered _handsome_ under the right circumstances. _There’s definitely someone out there who’s gonna fuck one of these._

_Shut up, that’s weird. What if there are mind reading mutants in the future?_

   She focused back on the helmet in her sweating hands. Someone could still be watching and it put her on edge. Whoever had been here, she hoped they were long gone. _But what if they were the ones to have let me out?_

   The helmet looked cool, itching paranoia aside. It also looked undamaged. She tilted it just so and looked inside. It had padding and what looked like a proper mask seal. Why an android would need a sealed mask was beyond her.

   She slid her ruck off and put the helmet inside. She’d inspect it further when she had shelter.

   The armor, however, she started adjusting the straps and fitting them on her. It left _a lot_ of unprotected flesh, but it was better than nothing. She still had no idea what might be waiting for her.

   _Other than some bigass roaches and metal men._

   She headed back towards her sister’s house.

…

   _Codsworth was still there._

   He’d waited there at the empty house for two-hundred and ten years.

   “That long? Really?” She asked, though she’d already accepted the fact. Everyone she knew was long gone. _Everyone._

   Her reunion with Codsworth was full of heartache, Codsworth clearly tried lighting her mood after handing over Nate’s holotape by offering to show her the garden.

   “Garden? But… Codsworth we didn’t even get to plant it yet. Didn’t all our plants die when… when the bombs dropped?” She thought about the beautiful wild rose she’d been gifted by new friends. _God, I hope Cassie and Hope got through okay._

   She’d befriended a pair of married farmers through an odd set of circumstances, and just a few days before everything went up in nuclear flames, they’d had a wild rose cultivar shipped to her.

   She pushed her memories aside and realized Codsworth was still hovering patiently in front of her.

   “Miss?”

   She pocketed the holotape and held out her hand to hold his claw arm. “Take me to the garden, please.” Her voice didn’t feel right.

   The house was a loss, as Codsworth had said, but the backyard, the _garden,_ it was _beautiful_.

   Her gift had survived the initial blast, and Codsworth had planted it, and spent two centuries caring for it. It was a massive hedge that formed a wall around most of the backyard. It had a few late crimson blooms on it, it was early October, but it had so much _green_ and so much _life_ that she finally sat down on the ground and started to cry.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some good boys

   After she’d sobbed herself out, given herself a massive headache, clogged her sinuses, and puffed up her face, she thanked Codsworth. She looked around the garden and saw what she hadn’t before.

   A _food garden._ Larger than the one she’d planned with Nate and Codsworth for a springtime surprise for her sister, mostly to combat rationing. Nate had almost cried at the suggestion that they try and grow pumpkins for Shaun’s second Halloween.

   There were three beds in the small yard. One along the west wall had three short rows of healthy looking corn, some kind of squash occupying the ground under the stalks, and snap peas climbing up the stalks. Another had a lot of green leaves but no visible fruits. She pointed at it questioningly.

   “Potatoes, Miss.”

   The third bed had tomatoes, and something that looked like really _ugly_ tomatoes. She noticed the telltale sprigs of carrots between the plants.

   “Why did you keep the garden going?”

   “In case you or any of your descendants came home. It’s been quite successful. On occasion, people come through and buy produce.” He let out an electronic sigh. “But sometimes they just break in and steal what they can, and trample the rest!” He huffed indignantly before focusing his eyes back on her. “Miss, what’s wrong?”

   “You waited for us.” Her voice trembled. He fussed over her while she sniffled.

   Codsworth led her back through the house and across the street, where she saw a power armor station and work tables set up. _Isn’t power armor only available to the military?_

But then Codsworth brought her inside, the front part of the house had been made into a living space. There was a fairly clean cot with a few blankets, a basic kitchen setup, a radio, a couple of lanterns but only one was lit, and a deflated-looking couch paired with a water-stained coffee table.

…”I’ll prepare some dinner for you, Miss.” Codsworth said reassuringly and drifted back to her sister’s old house.

   “Dinner…?” she trailed off and realized it was twilight already. How long had she been crying like a fool in the garden?

   Before she could distract herself with wondering who’d been living here, she set her ruck on the floor and started pulling the android’s armor off. She stacked it neatly over on the coffee table. Then she swept the bed off with her hand and sat down. While pulling her boots and socks off, she remembered the helmet. She reached down and wrestled it free from a spare suit she’d found in a drawer.

   There were probably more in the Vault that weren’t attached to ancient skeletons, but she hadn’t wanted to waste space on things that weren’t totally necessary. She _had_ , however, raided as many dressers and lockers and old suitcases for as many salvageable pairs of socks and underwear as she could find. She had quite a selection in her ruck.

   She checked over the outside again. She inspected the area over where the wearer’s mouth would be and checked over the filter. The limits of what it could protect her against were unknown. She hoped it was military quality at the very least. She hoped it was _clean._

   She finally slipped it on.

    _Not like a metal man can give me lice._

  It fit, more or less, and she was surprised to be able to _see._ Once she got used to wearing it, she would hardly notice that she was looking out through lenses. While she waited for Codsworth, she practiced breathing through the filter. It was tough in her condition. Her lungs were still tender from being frozen.

   She clipped the chin strap and shook her head back and forth, nodded, bent down almost to her legs and leaned back quickly, testing the fit. It didn’t shift. _Good._

   She unclipped it and pulled the helmet off, admiring it. She suddenly wondered if the android had been sapient or not. _Would it have attacked me if it was still active? Was it an ‘it’ or did it go by a pronoun?_

   She was still wondering about the fallen android when Codsworth drifted back in through the open door. He set a steaming bowl on the rickety kitchen table. “There’s canned water in the box under the table, Miss.”

   “Hey Codsworth, do you recognize this helmet? Some kind of android was wearing it.”

   He hummed in thought as he focused all three of his eyes on it. “No Miss, I don’t believe I have. I’m sorry.”

   “That’s okay, I’ll have to find someone who knows.” She paused. “That won’t shoot me.” She added as Codsworth’s account of his attempts at traveling reappeared in her thoughts.

   Codsworth bade her goodnight and drifted back out into the dark ruins. He patrolled at night in shifts, he’d told her, keeping scavengers and other trespassers out of the old neighborhood and away from the garden.

   She sat at the table and reached down to blindly grab a can of water from the wooden box near her feet. Her face rested near the bowl and she got a noseful of what he’d made for her.

   _Vegetable soup. Smells like he kept my rosemary around, too._

   The warmth and taste were soothing. She and her sister had never been on great terms, but she wished she were here, and not dead beside her husband. And that Shaun was here to squeal in delight as he tried his hardest to get his hands in her meal.

   She found that she was salting her soup.

   She finished her meal quickly and crawled into the dusty-smelling bed. She went out soon after she closed her eyes. She didn’t dream.

…

   Codsworth’s voice woke her. “Miss? It’s 8 o’clock. I’ve prepared you some breakfast.”

   _Why did they have to leave him with a wake-up program?_

   While she hated waking up in general, she actually felt rested. Odd, considering everything.

   Her chest felt tight though.

…

   I’ll be back soon, Codsworth, I promise!” She called behind her.

   She left with Codsworth’s blessing and directions after staying a solid week in what was left of Sanctuary Hills. She’d had plenty of time to roam, scavenge, clean, and garden while Codsworth filled her in with what he’d experienced the last two centuries.

   She asked him to accompany him but he politely declined. He sounded worried, almost afraid at leaving the old neighborhood.

   She’d only made it to the Red Rocket down the street when she encountered a dog. A _purebred German Shepard? After two centuries of unchecked breeding?_

The dog was friendly, and hers now. She had no idea if he had a name already but she was going to figure one out.

   But then he growled, and the ground began to burst open around them. She yelped and fumbled her ax off her belt. She’d never even shot a pistol before.

   Angry, wrinkled, pink _things_ hardly smaller than the dog were popping out of ground and trying to rip her legs off. _Oh fantastic,_ she thought as she started swinging.

   Sometime later she found herself in Concord with aching arms, near where she’d been scoping out an affordable apartment. One of the buildings she’d considered was crumbled down into a big red mound. She sighed.

   Then she heard gunfire and shouting. _Oh boy here we go._ She looked down at the dog and he wagged his tail.

   She was armored up against the chilly morning, the chest and arm guards over her jacket, helmet snugly on her head. She stuck to cover and shadows, until she was close enough to see a man on the balcony of the old museum fire some kind of laser rifle at a ragged bunch of crudely dressed people.

   _Raiders. Just like Cods said._

   She couldn’t tell what was being said, only that it was antagonizing, then one of the people on the ground loudly taunted the man on the balcony as his shot went wide, and the taunter fired a few rounds into a body dressed similarly to the man on the balcony. The corpse danced on the bloodied pavement.

   Her stomach boiled. _Might as well try and make some allies._

_And some enemies._

   She whispered _stay_ to the dog and lined up a few shots. _Just the way Daddy taught you. Don’t hesitate._

She ignored the fact that all her arms experience was with long-distance rifles and concentrated, _relaxed._

   She began to fire, the small-caliber rounds meeting their marks in their poorly-armored backs. She felt cold and a little nauseous at how quickly she killed them.

    _Wait, no._

   Two were still moving. The man on the balcony saw them and fired. He called out to her, finally seeing her hiding spot. He gave a brief introduction.

    _Innocent people and they need help. What a wild twist that the worst candidate shows up._

   She scavenged some ammunition, a few crude explosives, and closed the eyes of the Minuteman that had been felled right at the front door. The dog sniffed around but didn’t find anything worthy of his attention. He trotted back to where she stood, hand on the door handle.

   They went in.

   The interior of the museum was absolutely trashed. It was also full of the same kind of assholes who were outside. They didn’t notice her until it was too late, her quiet step unheard among their shouting and gunfire. One noticed her, but the dog had done a fine impression of a military hound, running up and dragging his target down by the arm, where she fired a shot into his chest.

   She felt sick.

   Her chest started feeling tight again. She breathed deep until the clamps loosened.

   She followed the dog and dug around side rooms and pockets for anything useful. Ammunition and _bottle caps_ of all things. She’d collected them before, intending to make wind chimes. She threw them in her ruck as well.

   She finally made it to the room where the survivors were holed up and came face-to-face with the man from the balcony.

   “So you just have those fucking things walking around here?” she asked Preston on their walk back to Sanctuary. Her voice, already distorted by the muzzle of her helmet, sounded nothing like her as it was filtered through the power armor’s speaker.

   “Yeah, but it’s not often they pop out of the ground like that. Just enough to give everyone nightmares.”

   She half-giggled at his semi-sarcastic tone and glanced back at the old woman, Mama Murphy, walking alongside the dog. She’d revealed that the dog already had a name, Dogmeat, and that he was his own man. _Right on, you fuzzy little butt-sniffer,_ she’d thought as she patted his head.

   Five survivors out of a massive group. They were lucky to have survived at all. She was appalled by their stories of _Gunners, Raiders, and feral ghouls._ She asked Preston what a feral ghoul was and now hoped to never encounter one.

   Preston paused by a Minuteman statue near the bridge that she’d completely forgotten about. He sounded both proud and very sad as he spoke.

   She led the group into the ruins of Sanctuary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not rly proofreading this and i'm not doing a final check bc i wanna go to subway


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hey i've been sick constantly for over a month bc of my job at the daycare so now she has to suffer too

   They had immediately started clearing out one of the standing houses, her and Preston and the man who had charmingly introduced himself as Sturges. Mama Murphy and the couple, Jun and Marcy, waited in her claimed house while Codsworth fussed over them.

   Mama Murphy had told her the pair were grieving, but that it wasn’t her place to say for _what_ or _whom._

   When Sturges said he was going to inspect the standing structures, she quietly said _“Just not that one,”_ and pointed at her sister’s blue house. Sturges nodded, Preston looked like he was filing that away for later. Neither pressed for an explanation.

   Sturges picked out the house while she and Preston scavenged roof and wall tiles from a collapsed house, stacking them by the mailbox of her yellow house. When Sturges came by to pick up a stack, he pointed out that the yellow house’s roof had already been decently patched.

   “Someone was living here before I came out of the ground,” she explained, “But Codsworth doesn’t remember who.”

   Sturges made a joke about Codsworth’s ancient memory but her mind was already back on who this mystery resident was. She excused herself from the two men and went to help Jun organize the yellow house for an overnight stay.

   She couldn’t help but think that whoever had been watching the Vault had also been the one living in the cul-de-sac.

   Later, she noticed her back was aching while she dragged her cot, loaded with her scant personal items, into the original kitchen area. She ignored it and used some old cordage and some kind of heavy blanket-y thing to curtain it off.

   She ignored her skin getting sensitive and continued shaking out old blankets and rugs and rearranging them in the living room. Mama Murphy was parked on the couch, absently untangling a mass of gray yarn. Marcy was nowhere to be seen. Jun looked like he was on the verge of tears as he laid out the makeshift beds.

…

   That night she helped Preston cook up some deathclaw meat. She noticed that he had made sure to cut from the areas _not_ full of bullet holes.

   She was enraptured as Preston took charge of the meal. First, he’d asked Codsworth if there were any spices or vegetables, and was led to the garden. She followed behind like a puppy.

   Preston’s reaction was of wonder and delight. A garden meant his survivors wouldn’t go hungry.

   He visibly reigned in his excitement as she pointed out the strips lining the back wall of the house that held the spices. She wanted to cry over the thought of someone as sweet as him ever going hungry.

_(might just be the luckiest person here)_

_(though you went hungry in a house full of food)_

   Deathclaws made a fine stew, though the meat was a bit strange to her. Not quite beef steak, not quite alligator tail.

   Jun looked like usual, as though he were about to physically fall apart. Marcy ate silently next to him, stiff and expressionless, though strained around the eyes. Mama Murphy stayed on the old couch. She sat with Preston and Sturges at the old table.

   The big aluminum pot was spotless by the end of their meal.

   Suddenly, she’s exhausted. She shuffled about, helping clean up before she slipped behind her curtain and out of her suit and boots.

   Her Pip-Boy goes atop a stacked pair of homemade wooden crates that she’d found in the house. She fiddles with it until she figures out the alarm clock setting, filling the screen with digits announcing that it was 9:37PM.

   She hears the others retiring for the night as she crawls under her scant blankets. She finds it’s almost easy to quiet her mind and is almost dreaming before the others even make it to their beds for the night.

…

   The next morning she woke with a badly sore throat. She had an instant realization, but shoved it away. She wasn’t going to stay in bed and laze about while the rest of the group worked their tails off.

   By early afternoon, her whole body was aching, her throat and sinuses painful and swollen-feeling. It got harder and harder to focus as the day progressed.

   She was pulling wall tiles from the tangled ruins of the house by the old bridge when she started fumbling. She freed an intact tile, swooned, and started falling backwards. She caught herself, squatted down, set the tile aside, and rubbed her head with both hands. She settled back onto her butt and sat criss-cross.

   Her sinuses made her face feel like it was about to crack open.

   “Hey, are you alright?” Preston called.

   She looked up to see him striding towards her, concern all over his face.

_(god he’s cute)_

   “Dunno,” was all she managed to croak.

   It occurs to her, why she’d gotten so sick so soon after coming into contact with people.

   Her terrible immune system had two hundred and ten years of bacteria and viruses to catch up on.

   _(oh this is gonna be bad)_

   “Preston?” She says. “My Vault was sealed up until about a week ago.”

   Preston almost groans. He caught on quick, at least. “You’ve got one hell of a cold to go through, then.” He offers her a hand up. “Come on, you should rest.”

   His hand is _warm_ and _rough_ and she wants to hold on forever. However comforting his touch may be, she releases his hand to keep the moment from getting weird.

   It isn’t until she’s sitting on the edge of her cot, wiping her face down with a damp rag that she realizes Preston already knew that she was a weak Vault Dweller. Almost no muscle mass, no body fat, no knowledge of the world or its many dangers.

   She hadn’t even taken into account the two hundred and ten years of pathogens that her immune system was going to be exposed to. She hadn’t even thought of it until it was too late.

   But what could she have done? Head over to the nearest pharmacy and ask for their latest flu shot?

   She sighed and tried not to think about how _weak_ and _pathetic_ and _soft_ she must appear to these survivors.

…

   The fever came on in the middle of the night. She woke, whimpering, feeling like she was baking in her own skin. Her joints all felt like they were full of fiberglass, her fingers feeling the worst of it.

   Someone stuck a thermometer under her tongue and she quieted and held still until the device beeped.

   _“A hundred and two point two,”_ she heard Sturges say. _“I think I’ve got some medicine stashed away…”_

   It might have been Sturges to hand her a cold bottle of water. She drank it slowly through the pain in her throat.

   The night was fitful, she tossed around during brief moments of awareness.

   At some point she woke briefly, wondered where they’d gotten a digital thermometer, then passed back out again after completely forgetting the thought.

   She remembered asking for a light on, and suddenly a little lantern was on an upturned crate nearby. She slept better after that.

   By morning, her temperature had stabilized at a high of one-hundred-and-one. When she opened her eyes, she could see Codsworth flitting by the partially open curtain. Preston stepped in with the same water bottle she’d been handed before. He’d refilled it with more blessedly cold water.

   She held the bottle to her forehead and thanked him quietly. She was rewarded with a small upturn of his lips.

…

   She slept through most of the day, alternating between shivering and boiling, the settlers she’d guided here taking turns to check on her. Codsworth was never far, and always zipped in when she started whimpering.

   When the settlers gathered back for the evening, she felt like she’d gotten through the worst of it. She’d had longer fevers when she’d first started working at a daycare.

   If the pattern of illness was to be followed, her sudden exposure to these survivors was going to go _a lot_ like her sudden exposure to a dozen germy toddlers.

   She was going to be sick for a _very long time._ Or maybe die. The fact that she’d been sick and miserable for over two months without reprieve had made her want to step out in front of a truck.

   _Maybe I can step out in front of a speeding deathclaw this time._

   There was a knock on the wall bordering the curtain that brought her back to attention, and after a brief pause, Preston let himself in. He looked relieved to see her sitting upright and looking aware of her surroundings.

   “How are you feeling?” He asked.

   “A lot better. Thanks for everything.” She hesitated. “And I mean it. You’ve only known me for like two days and you guys made sure I didn’t just shrivel up and die.”

   Preston actually looked almost _touched_ by her gratitude. She guessed not many people these days were into generosity and graciousness _._

   “Well, you _did_ save our lives in the Museum. Most folks these days wouldn’t’ve gotten involved.” Again, she saw that little upturn at the corner of his mouth. “I did have a question for you, though.”

   She made a hum of inquiry.

   “What’s your name? We didn’t exactly get a formal introduction.”

   ( _uh)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3 days now of blowing yellow mucus out of my sinuses and two separate rounds of antibiotics didn't finish it off I Will Die


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mundane things in sanctuary

   “Uh,” She made the noise out loud. “Huh.”

   “Not on good terms with your old name?” He asked, with a look like he was almost expecting her to have a _really_ horrific, absolutely _tragic_ backstory behind not liking her old first name.

   Well, it was a _lot_ of pretty sucky things, but this lovely man she’d known for barely three days didn’t really need to hear about it.

   “You can use my family name, Kelly.” She said finally.

   _“Kelly,”_ He feels the name out. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

   He holds his hand out for her to shake and he sees her actually smile for the first time as she takes it.

…

   She spent another week in the neighborhood, helping set up living spaces, creating beds out what parts they could scavenge and re-learning how to make a straw mattress. There was so much to be done just to make the place livable by more than one person and a robot.

   Codsworth had kept track of the plants, leading Preston along to show him where all the edible stuff was growing throughout the old buildings and along the stream. There were wild gourds, berries, corn, and other vegetation that Codsworth had catalogued over the years. She paid close attention.

   Sturges needed help with patching the steel buildings, and she and Jun had cautiously revisited the Red Rocket, with Dogmeat leading the way. They’d found usable tools, including a ton of welding equipment.

   To her, it certainly _felt_ like it weighed a ton.

   They dragged it all back in a cart within an hour of leaving Sanctuary. Marcy was at the bridge, surveying where defenses could be set up. She took the full weight of the cart and heaved across the bridge so the pair could have a moment alone.

   Before she got past them, she saw Marcy touch Jun’s shoulder, saw him lean into her.

   She could feel their grief all the way back to the yellow house.

…

   With the welding equipment, they were able to properly patch the old homes. Plates were welded together, then spot-welded onto the roof. She was pretty sure they were supposed to use rivets or something, but the materials were unavailable and the knowledge damn near lost.

   She helped Preston replace struts in the ceilings and walls, hoping they wouldn’t yank the whole thing down onto their heads.

   They couldn’t do anything about the missing window glass, but they could make shutters. She had fun with those. She wasn’t a trained carpenter, but her childhood experience in making simple furniture gave her a head start.

   She made the frames from straight sections of whatever she could find, any kind of metal that wasn’t too corroded, and wood that wasn’t rotted. She made them as straight and even as she could, then –for the wood-would gouge out the slots for the slats before using a watery glue to keep them in place. The metal ones she soldered herself after Sturges showed her how to use the hand-held blowtorch.

   The slats were mostly uneven, but when she stood back and looked at her fist finished shutter, she couldn’t help but be proud of it. It was god damned _ugly_ but it would certainly get the job done.

   That work took her two and a half days, while Sturges had Jun as his assistant, Marcy and Preston built barricades, and Codsworth kept Mama Murphy busy with knitting.

   Apparently, Codsworth had built up a stash of knitting and crocheting supplies over the years, waiting for the return of his family. He’d also collected toys for Shaun, decorative animal figurines and tools for Nate, and odds and ends for her sister.

   Her sister was always hard to shop for.

   _She managed to be frustrating even after she was gone._

   She slept hard every night. She couldn’t remember her dreams, or if she had even dreamed at all.

…

   The survivors all used her name, but it felt strange to her. She never used to feel disconnected from her last name. It was always her first name. She’d also felt distinctly unattached to her middle name, since it wasn’t used in any situation that wasn’t her being screamed at.

   Although she always remembered with a degree of fondness how her oldest sister had taught her to spell her middle name.

   She had long since stopped thinking of herself as having a name. In her mind, she just didn’t use one for herself. She couldn’t remember when she’d stopped. It was before she moved up to Boston, to live with her sister and her family, she could tell that much.

   _How do people just_ choose _new names for themselves? Nothing fits._

…

   Every time she left the relative safety of the settlement, she’d don her armor and helmet, often forgetting that she was wearing it long after she’d returned. The helmet was _safe,_ it was _comfortable_ , it didn’t let anyone see her face twist into odd expressions that didn’t match the atmosphere.

   She used to wear aviator sunglasses for similar reasons; though the added factors of living in a sun-beaten state, her schools having massive oven-like courtyards, and a video game character that wore similar glasses overshadowed the personal issues.

   She’d come back from a scavenging trip around the outskirts of Concord with a pack full of scrap steel and had left her helmet on for almost two hours after returning. She’d wondered why Dogmeat wasn’t responding to her kissy face when she realized she was still wearing her helmet. No one had commented on it.

   She realized she had a lot of personal problems to deal with.

   _Later._

…

   “So this detective is in Diamond City?”

   “Yeah, kid,” the woman drawly out impatiently. She seemed irritated that there were more questions than purchases.

   “How do you get to Diamond City from here?” she asked while she fiddled with her PipBoy map. She zoomed out from the area around Sanctuary and the Vault and held it so _Trashcan Carla_ could see.

   _What a name. Did she pick it out herself or did she pick it up along the way?_

   After getting the directions and making some notes on her map, she moseyed back over to where Preston and Sturges were looking over cooking equipment mixed with poorly-made shoes.

   As she opened her mouth to ask Preston something, the boot in Sturges’ hand split in half. As the sole and his jaw flapped open, she whipped her head around to see if Carla had noticed, and saw with relief that the woman hadn’t seen and was absent-mindedly swatting a bug from her ankle.

   _“Put it back!”_ she hissed, restraining laughter.

   Sturges hid the boot under a scratched frying pan and picked up a pot he’d apparently already decided on buying. Preston looked like the oldest sibling of two idiots, trying to decide if he should laugh or be annoyed.

   After she’d finished petting both of the bramin’s heads and feeding her bits of grass, and after Carla and her severely overloaded animal left, she sat down beside Preston in front of the small fire they’d built by the bridge.

   “Have you heard of this detective before?”

   “A few times, people really seem to like him.”

   “I wonder, a _real_ detective going around and helping people nowadays. Do you think he’s Pre-War, like an old ghoul or something?”

   This made Preston squirm a little, both in discomfort and the look of old anger on his face.

   “No, he’s definitely not a ghoul.”

   “How do you know?”

   “Diamond City kicked out all the ghouls living there, and killed the ones who fought to stay in their homes.”

   _“Jesus.”_ _That_ was certainly appalling to hear. “Who set it off?”

   “The current mayor. Apparently he started his campaign pretty normally, but then he just decided to rally the human citizens around getting rid of the in _inhuman filth_ in the city _._ And people bought into it. He became mayor and all those _innocent_ people were driven out.”

   Diamond City was suddenly a _lot_ less appetizing, but she needed the detective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmmmm i will write action eventually i gotta like. ease into this  
> *eases in but takes like 10 chapters*


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the Vault isn't so scary when it's useful

   It was late autumn. She needed to go back in the Vault, the weather was changing quickly, turning the cool air into _chilly,_ then to _cold_ during the nights _._ She needed her coat. The shop jacket just wasn’t cutting it, especially when the wind picked up.

   Preston, shielded in his thick coat, had told her that the weather that year had been unusual, the seasons arriving late and the region was in a drought. He said that there should have been some flurries by then. She told him that the same thing had happened before the War.

   That made her oddly anxious in a way she couldn’t describe. Not just the changed climate, but the _snow._ She’d experienced snow when she was about five, and not since. She was from a semi-tropical climate. She hadn’t been in the area long enough to go through a winter.

   _Let alone a post-nuclear winter._

   When she finally decided to head up the old path, she hesitated at the bridge absent-mindedly fiddling with the strap of her empty pack.

   _This bridge was repaired. Who was living here and fixing the place up? Who was watching the Vault? Was this all the same person? How long were they here?_

_What happened to them?_

   She was staring at the splintered, weather-worn planks, lost in a mess of questions, when she heard Preston approach from behind.

   She knew how he sounded when he walked: one of his heels usually caught slightly on the ground, he stepped a tad heavier on one foot than the other.

   She’d left her helmet and armor behind, Preston no doubt could see the anxiety all over her face.

   “Hey, are- are you alright?”

   “Kinda. I need to go in, but I don’t know if I’ll be when I get in there.” The admission pours out with little resistance.

   _Really gotta stop just Telling people all about our sad life and our sad feelings. Nobody wants to hear about it._

_All of these people have been through so much worse._

   Preston hesitates before asking: “Do you want me to go with you? So you’re not alone?” He almost rushed the last part out.

   “Yeah, that’d be… nice.” She mentally scolded herself.

   Nice _of you to join me in this massive frozen tomb._

   While they walked, she avoided the skeletons she knew were there. One she missed, caught her foot on, and when she picked the bone from the dirt, she saw that it showed signs of erosion from the sand blowing on the hillside. She set it back with the other partially exposed bones.

   The rest of the quiet walk to the Vault entrance she thought about an ancient burial site in the middle of the Sahara, full of generations of eroding bones. The archeologists described the skulls as delicate teacups that crumbled when handled.

   Preston was fascinated by the door platform. He circled it as she headed to the control booth to see if she could figure out how to open the thing.

   Thankfully, though, she found only a single red button with a plug interface that matched the one inside the Vault. She plugged in her Pip-Boy, primed the control, and pressed down on the button. She heard a click, then a massive rumble that she felt in her ears and her feet as the Vault’s oversized door began to unseal.

   She quickly shut the rust-flaked door of the little prefab behind her as she left.

   She trotted back to where Preston waited on the enormous elevator pad. “Wow,” he managed before the blast door closed over their heads and plunged them into darkness.

   Red emergency lights kicked in after a delay, and she felt her anxiety bubbling up. She expected the rest of the sounds from her last ride down- the crying and screaming, the elevator and the concrete shaft rumbling so loudly she could feel it in her chest as she stood next to Preston in the semi-darkness.

   She let out a shuddering breath as quietly as she could, letting it be swallowed up by the grinding and screeching coming from the old lift. Preston didn’t seem to notice.

   The cage door slid hesitantly up, and she took her first voluntary step into the Vault.

…

   She avoided the cryogenic sections of the Vault, she didn’t need to go in them anyways. She _didn’t want_ to go in them.

   The Overseer’s quarters were as she left it, undisturbed by any giant roaches.

    _Or frozen wraiths._

 She dug around in the drawers, grabbing extra clothes of varying sizes. Cold weather meant she’d need plenty of layers. Plus, the other settlers would need some spares.

   As she sorted through everything, she hoped she would remember to pick up extra armor. Her salvaged armor wouldn’t fit properly over her coat, and she tried to figure out if she could make it fit _under_ her coat. She’d probably have to get a new, more suitable coat anyways.

   _Something longer, something that can cover my butt so it doesn’t freeze off._

   Her coat and the extra clothes went on the bed as she looked around for anything else that could be useful. Preston quietly looked around the Vault, even venturing into the cryo sections.

   She was looking through the reading materials she’d collected when a realization suddenly slammed home. She put the yellowed novel back in its place and hurried into the bathroom.

   _Hot water!_

   The Vault had running water, and though the generator was damaged, it probably still had a working heater.

   She twisted the knob in the shower all the way to where the _H_ was painted on the face plate.

   She heard some brief mechanical distress in the distance and the water turned lukewarm against her hand, then warm, then finally, _hot._

   She let out an excited sound.

   “Hey, Preston!” she called.

   “Yeah?” he called back, already running towards her. He sounded _concerned._

   He appeared in the doorway and seemed almost confused by the sight of her standing next to the shower stall with her hand under the spray.

   “We’ve got hot water!” She couldn’t help smiling. She’d missed hot water on tap _dearly._

   He smiled, relief and excitement blending over the thought of a hot, radiation-free shower.

…

   She remembered the employee dorms, and the locker room-esque area attached.

   It had a five-stall shower room, the stalls enclosed with the same sort of dividers and doors as the toilets, but the stalls were longer. There were heavy plastic curtains speckled with mildew separating the shower space from a small dressing area.

   The bathroom area was parallel to the showers, five stalls, with a door at either end for easy access between the spaces. The wall connecting the rooms held sinks and mirrors on both sides.

   _Luxury,_ she thought. _This is a massive luxury we have here. An asset._

_A liability._

Preston showered while she inspected the scientist’s bathing area. She unscrewed each showerhead and shook out dried flakes of… _stuff_.

   The showers hadn’t been used in over two hundred years, but had managed not to leak or rust out as far as she could tell. She didn’t know for sure- she wasn’t a plumber. It could all be rotten inside the walls for all she knew.

   The hinges on all the stall doors in both rooms needed oiling. The showerheads needed to be cleaned, as did the shower curtains. The whole place, as a matter of fact, needed a good cleaning.

   She wondered if she could buy some bleach anywhere.

   She then found a pair of urinals with partial dividers at the far end of the bathroom stalls. There were what appeared to be the remnants of urine stains around them and she wondered where she could buy _a lot_ of bleach.

…

   Preston has finished showering and was shrugging back into his overcoat by the time she made her way back to her claimed quarters. She realized that he was clean getting into dirty clothes at the same time she realized that she was now dirty. The dry gunk from the showerheads had gotten under her nails, highlighting how chipped and flaked they were.

   She was suddenly ashamed of her appearance and she didn’t know why.

   Preston hung up the hand towel he’d used to dry himself on one of the towel racks in the bathroom as he happily chattered about bringing everyone down here for showers. She tried to push away the strange feeling.

   ( _why are you so worried about what you look like everyone looks like this what does it matter what Preston thinks)_

   “Preston, I think we should check the laundry room, too,” she blurts out. From his semi-startled expression, she figures that she’d interrupted him.

   He seems to forgive her for the moment of rudeness, because he answers her.

   “There’s a laundry room? Do you think any of the machines still work?”

   “I hope they do. If they don’t, do you think Sturges could fiddle with them?”

   “Maybe,” he replies, but it sounds so hopeful, and she just knows that he’s trying to envision a future for himself and his survivors in this place.

…

   That afternoon, she led Sturges to the dorm showers, where he hemmed and hawed over the fixtures. He found some access panels and together they pried them off to inspect the pipes and wiring leading to the bathroom area. It was all old and crusty, but serviceable.

   When they made their way to the laundry room, Sturges was impressed by the machines merely being intact. There were plenty of laundromats in the world, but most of them had been ransacked for parts. These machines had met no such fate. Not yet, anyways.

   There were three washers and three dryers. The Vault wasn’t a large one, so it didn’t need any industrial-size services. After carefully inspecting each one, the pair determined that two of the washers could be used, and all three dryers could be used. The third washer had a severed water line that leaked and corroded the machine’s guts.

   They talked about using the Vault as a community center of sorts, a bunker for attacks and _radstorms_ , something Sturges had to explain to her. They ate deer jerky as they talked, Sturges explaining that they were just within range of someplace called _The Glowing Sea_ , and that the radstorms were basically supercells that were full of alpha particles from the area.

   Until the buildings were lined with lead foil, or reinforced through other means, they were all in danger of the radiation storms.

   She tells Sturges that there had been a super-secret military installation there, in addition to a nuclear power plant with a dreadful safety record nearby before the war, and that was where she saw the big bomb fall. The big bomb must have caused a meltdown at the plant, contaminating the whole area for centuries to come.

   Sturges had never heard _this_ information before, and she was suddenly glad of her interest in nuclear science. _Well, he doesn’t need to know that I mostly read about the accidents._

She checked her Pip-Boy for the time and was surprised at how late it had gotten.

   “Sturges, it’s almost nine o’clock.”

   “Already?” He’s also surprised, standing up from the cafeteria bench where they’d been lounging. He offers her a hand. “We should head back up and get to bed. We’re gonna be pretty busy for quite some time.”

   She takes his hand, looking forward to making herself useful. _Or to at least_ feel _useful._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> someone commented on an older fic of mine and i got the energy to write afterwards


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No-Face leaves the village of Sanctuary

   It was two more weeks before the ground was coated with frost in the morning. She’d teamed up with Sturges on mechanical repairs in the Vault, and some days they didn’t see the sun for more than an hour or so.

   She missed the warmth of the sun dearly. Even when she was awash with its light, she felt only the chill of the breeze. It didn’t help being down in the Vault so often. They hadn’t figured out the environmental controls yet.

   Trashcan Carla gave them a good deal on food and clothing in exchange for the broken washer’s parts. She also told them about a diner not too far away that was a small, family-run trading post. She also implied that the trader’s son was a junkie, stealing caps from the business.

   She got an odd feeling about Carla that had been building since she’d first come to the settlement, that she couldn’t be trusted. The gossip was more than just gossip. It was information gathering.

   She suddenly realized Trashcan Carla would make the perfect snitch: traveling all over, allowed into all kinds of places, hearing and seeing all kinds of things, idle chatter with settlers and travelers alike.

   _But who is there out there to have spies?_

   That afternoon, she thoroughly washed the long blue coat she bought from Carla twice, though her skin still crawled when she pulled it out to throw it in the dryer.

…

   Later, she asked Mama Murphy if she got any weird feelings from the trader. Mama Murphy was suddenly energetic, hauling herself up out of her old wool-stuffed chair. Wool from what animal, no one knew.

   The evening snuck up on them, as Mama Murphy told her about the Sight, about other “sensitivities,” about ghosts, psychics, telepaths, telekinetics, and so many more strange and wonderful things she’d encountered in her lifetime. Mama Murphy could only access her Sight by using hard chems these days. In her youth, she could simply meditate and focus, but as time went on and the years took their toll, she had to resort to serious measures.

   She admitted that she didn’t use her Sight much anymore, her chem use took too much out of her, and she’d realized it hurt more than just her.

   “Sturges and Preston are wonderful young men, I couldn’t bear to put them through more.” The old woman sort of trails off, and she put it all together, that Mama Murphy’s “old lady activities;” the yarn, the painting odd items for the houses, shuffling around with Codsworth while he tended the gardens; were to keep her occupied.

   Her hands hadn’t been shaking because she was _old,_ it was from _withdrawals_.

   Certainly losing their previous home, their friends and neighbors, hadn’t helped her addiction.

   Before she retreated to her cozy kitchen corner for the night, Mama Murphy told her one last thing: “You’ve got an Instinct about people, trust your gut feeling. It’ll save your life.”

…

   The winter started, with a light powdering of dry snow that didn’t last the morning, and she decided that she needed to explore for the sake of the settlement, they needed resources. More trade would keep them alive.

   She chose Dogmeat to take with her, Preston and Codsworth were too valuable to take away from the little village. They weren’t entirely happy about her decision, but they were all too aware of their dwindling resources.

   Mama Murphy wished her luck, pressing a pair of gray woolen mittens into her hands.

   Sturges and Preston had helped her make modifications to her android armor. More coverage that would fit easily under her long blue coat. The white collar peeked out, protecting her throat. Her helmet had been disassembled and cleaned. Her pistol and axe were on her belt, a “new” hunting rifle slung on her shoulder.

   She was only a little anxious, more filled with the curiosity of exploration.

   While she finished preparing, she wondered what she might encounter.

   _There’s a lot of bad people, a lot of animals, monsters, mutants. A lot of violence. But that’s not so different, is it? It’s all just out in the open now…_

   She hugged Preston and Sturges goodbye, thanked Mama Murphy while she embraced her. She thought she saw the old woman wipe away a tear.

   Marcy wordlessly handed her a greenish-bluish scarf as she and Dogmeat passed through the makeshift gate by the bridge.

   She turned and waved goodbye when her feet met the pavement on the other side.

…

   She made good progress, even though she detoured often, marking new locations on her Pip-Boy, adding notes on what locations had what resources, enemies, or any notable events. She’d mostly encountered animals that showed little interest in her or Dogmeat.

   There was one occasion, when she’d foolishly decided to walk at night. Her boots crunched through the fresh-fallen powder, not watching where she was going because she was looking up in absolute wonder at the tiny flakes of falling snow against the backdrop of the moon.

   Clouds drifted in, shrouding the landscape in darkness, and she noticed Dogmeat stop dead in his tracks in front of her. Silently, she dropped to one knee and had her rifle out, safety flicked off.

   There was a massive, lumbering shape up ahead on the old road. Maybe fifty feet away? She wasn’t good at gauging distance.

   It was moving about a small area, seeming to be snuffling around in some debris, the movement looked like it was eating something.

   The shape was all but concealed in darkness by the partial cloud cover. The moon was almost full, and when the cloud cover was quietly brushed away, the silver light revealed a pair of massive shining eyes trained directly on her.

   _Bear!_

   She immediately cast her eyes down, hissed at Dogmeat to _stay_ , and hoped dearly that the animal wouldn’t see them as a threat.

   Seconds ticked by, and they weren’t charged, she snuck a glace up at the beast. It had resumed eating, not bothering with a pair of harmless passerby that weren’t threatening its meal.

   She reached out to Dogmeat and tapped his back. _“Back up, boy. Back up.”_

She crouched, edging around the bear, daring to peek at what it was doing. Even in the moonlight, she could see that the bear was… _wrong_. It was missing half of its fur, covered in lumps, and it seemed to be favoring one of its front paws.

   There was a smell, too. Something rancid, something _greasy_ that spoke of living flesh rotting off the bone.

   She looked again and saw what it was eating. Her stomach turned. She hurried away, crunching grass in her haste.

   It was tearing away at the steaming bodies of a caravan team and their bramin, and she and Dogmeat might have been so unlucky had they been about ten minutes sooner.

…

   She occasionally met settlers and traders, helping them out how she could. She usually accepted food and warmth in exchange. She was fucking _freezing_ all the time.

   One woman asked her if she could stem the flow of feral ghouls drifting in from Cambridge. She agreed to investigate, at the very least.

   The outskirts of Cambridge proper were scattered with the bodies of what she had to assume were feral ghouls.

   They stank, days old, but as she went further into town, the bodies got fresher. She started hearing sounds of a firefight deeper into town. _Friend or foe?_

_Only one way to find out._

   She drew her rifle, more confident with it than the little pistol.

   Something ran across the street, heading away from her. Well, it wasn’t _running,_ it was stumbling along quickly.

   She followed it at a distance, hoping nothing was following it. She did what her dad had taught her, observe all angles; front, back, sides, above, below. Tunnel vision got you killed. Quick glances showed that she was alone aside from the shambler and an excited Dogmeat.

   She was relieved at being alone until they turned a corner and reached an old police station.


End file.
